kingfisher’s cache

with our floaties on
we swam over      to the little nest
three eggs     the blue
of a misremembered ocean
all in halves     hatched
the kingfisher     with that magnificent
crest     black yet     iridescent
absent
and we were older     standing there
in the ankle-deep water


the falls

in the crook of the rocks
water silking over     pulling the under-
weeds up by their green hair
like our toy trolls
diamonds     in their belly buttons


thunder

someone in the sky
had a giant piece of poster board
and was shaking it
what I liked      was all the scattered
petals     the flowers whole
then not
if my mother had let me     I would have
climbed     into the apple tree
let rain spatter     make me
shine



rose hips

like very small pomegranates
I saw them     in the almost autumn
the last beach roses blowing
against the crooked path
slate sea     where
we waded     half-holding each other
looking far off     biting our lips


the falls

we swam upstream
sometimes boys watching us
chicken-boned     goose-fleshed     flat-
chested     we tucked
under the murk-dark
better     
down here     better
in the rock nooks 
like little rooms
bubbles rising    from our mouths
and shattering     in contact 
with the open air


tar

gooey in the cracks
black thick like     hesitance
we stuck     our fingers     dented
and stretched     hot
as we sat     on our butts
with all the small     sharp stones that
come up     as the old
pavement wears down
flecking     our flesh


dogwood berries

sometimes     we would 
gather them
dodecahedrons
fat     squat     flattened
ornaments
from the heaven
of those white     dog-faced
flowers      all blown open
like North Stars


Roo’s grave

a mown square     of the meadow
tufts of milkweed     releasing
as we waded out
kneeled     with our ratty bouquets
by the mound
and none of us knew what to say so
we listened